


Laughing Willows

by incorrectbatfam



Series: Dick and Dami Week 2021 [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Out of Character, Tumblr: Dick and Dami Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 14:48:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29935041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incorrectbatfam/pseuds/incorrectbatfam
Summary: When it comes to Damian, Dick is the biggest pushover Steph’s ever seen.~Dick and Dami Week day 3: Trust |Adoption papers| “You’re shaking”
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Stephanie Brown & Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne
Series: Dick and Dami Week 2021 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2197983
Comments: 2
Kudos: 170
Collections: DickAndDamiWeek2021





	Laughing Willows

It started with a baby bird. Then again, that’s how a lot of stories around here. 

Steph shouldn’t have been all that surprised to find that the instinct to adopt was genetic. But with Bruce gone, there’s really no one to keep the baby bats in check, was there? Or if there was, it sure wasn’t Dick Grayson.

She tossed her backpack on the couch and followed the sound of chirping into the kitchen where Dick and Damian huddled around the center island sprinkling crumbs into a shoebox. 

She raised an eyebrow. “What’cha got there?”

Damian scoffed. “What does it look like, Brown?”

“Alright, dumb question, my bad,” she said. “Where’d you find them?”

“The park,” Dick said. “Some biker ran over the mom, so we took her to the vet and looking after the chicks in the meantime.”

Steph pulled up a chair. “How long will that be?”

Dick shrugged. “Anywhere from a few days to a couple weeks, they said.”

She peered into the box. Five robin chicks, all donning barely-there feathers like thin jackets, hopped around with mouths wide open, demanding a second helping. “Did you name them?”

“As a matter of fact, I did not,” said Damian. “Pennyworth told me not to name them as they will return to their natural habitat fairly soon.”

Dick pointed to the one rolling around in the crumbs like the only thing stopping it from doing a backflip was its pudgy avian form. “I’m calling this one Dick Junior.”

Damian rolled his eyes. “Of course you are.”

Next came the mouse. Granted, Damian didn’t catch it and bring it home. This one was accidental, and it was Steph who had the misfortune of encountering it.

She’d come downstairs for her midnight eggs and bacon (because Dick’s not the only one with late-night breakfast cravings). Alfred won’t be happy about the missing ingredients. But her stomach’s needs trumped all rational thought. 

Laying the bacon strips on a hot pan, the sizzling soon filled the room. Maybe she was distracted, or maybe it was the loudest thing in the Manor, but it was enough to make her miss the tiny paws slapping the tile… until something crawled over her foot.

She shrieked and scrambled onto the countertop. 

Dick barreled down the stairs. “What happened? Do I have to get the anti-Joker spray?”

Her elbow barely missed knocking over the fruit bowl as she jabbed her finger at the brown rodent.

Though not to the same extent as Steph, Dick recoiled. “Didn’t Alfred set traps?”

“That’s what I thought!”

From the doorway, Damian piped up. “I removed them.”

“What? Why would you do that?” Steph asked.

“Why would you set them, is my question?” Damian gently scooped the mouse in his hands, stroking the top of its head with his finger. “Who in their right mind would want to harm nature’s beauty?”

Perhaps she was sleep-deprived, but she could’ve sworn Damian’s gaze softened when he made eye contact with the mouse. 

“What would be an appropriate name for him?” he asked.

“What?” Steph and Dick said in unison.

Damian repeated the question, as though they were stupid. “What should I name him?”

Dick’s jaw dropped. “You’re not seriously thinking of keeping that thing.”

As if the situation couldn’t get any weirder, Damian turned around with glossy eyes the size of saucers and bottom lip sticking out, quivering. “Please, Grayson? Look at him, he’s lost and needs a home. Don’t you remember what that’s like?”

Steph scoffed internally. No way that will work.

Dick pursed his lips so tight they were a thin pale line. He tried to tear himself away from Damian’s gaze, but Damian refused to let him.

“Ugh, fine. Whatever gets you to quit looking at me like that.”

“Excellent,” said Damian, “and I just came up with a name: Francis.”

“Francis?” Steph asked.

“I drew partial inspiration from your pathetic attempt at cooking, Brown. Francis, as in Francis Bacon, the English philosopher and statesman.”

“Should’ve gone with Kevin,” Dick said.

Steph rolled her eyes. “Can I go back to my breakfast now?”

After the mouse came the jar of caterpillars. Apparently, this is what Steph gets for letting Dick take Damian for an afternoon on the town without supervision. Was this how Oracle felt every patrol? She made a mental note to get Babs a gift basket or something.

“Damian, quit letting your bugs crawl around the house,” she said. “They keep eating my homework.”

“Tt, that is their nature.”

“Yeah, well, it’s my nature to give wedgies to annoying little brothers—”

Damian fired back. “I’d like to see you try!”

She slapped her hand against her textbook. “Get your pets under control, Damian. Last night I found one of your birds digging through my sock drawer!”

“They need space to roam.”

“And I need space, period.”

He crossed his arms. “GRAYSON!”

She waved her finger. “No, no, you don’t get to call him. Don’t pull the victim card ’cause you’re the culprit.” She jabbed said finger in his chest.

Half-expecting it to be amputated, her face fell when he simply smirked. “What are you—”

As soon as Dick entered the room, Damian’s devilish smile morphed into trembling lips and a tear rolling down his cheek. 

Dick’s expression softened. “Dami, what’s wrong?”

“B-brown th-threatened to get rid of all the animals,” Damian said.

Steph balked. “I did not. The little twerp’s lying!”

Dick wiped the droplet from Damian’s face. “I dunno, Steph. I think he’s telling the truth. Damian doesn’t cry for no reason.”

She let out a frustrated scream before brushing the fuzzy caterpillars off her textbook and storming upstairs.

The mama bird didn’t make it. There were some complications and… well, not much else could be said. Steph had to admit, she was a little jealous of Tim, who was away on a business trip that week, because that left her to attend a backyard funeral with bat-brat, the enabler, and Alfred (who, though she didn’t share the sentiment, understood her frustration). She could be finishing a book report or watching the next episode of American Idol, but no, life wouldn’t freaking let her. Instead, she had to dress in black and listen to Damian give a eulogy for some dumb animal. And she had to sit between Ace and Titus, the two gassiest dogs in Gotham.

(Okay, she shouldn’t blame the animals, but this was getting out of hand.)

“That was a beautiful speech, Dami,” Dick said, handing a tissue to the younger boy.

They buried the bird under a weeping willow on a cloudy day in a delicate little box of engraved plywood, each taking turns sprinkling petals onto the makeshift coffin before Alfred pushed the damp soil over. The tiniest sob escaped Damian’s lips, and Dick pulled him into his chest. Steph hated herself for wanting the kid to cut it out. Then again, when did Damian ever show emotion? And who was she to prevent him? If she did, she’d be no better than Ra’s Al Ghul and the whole League of Assassins.

Sighing, she placed a hand on his shoulder.

Turns out Francis was a Francine. They figured that out via some weird symptoms and a veterinarian trip. And three weeks later… 

“Nuh-uh, that thing’s not giving birth in my room,” Steph said.

Damian cradles the extremely pregnant mouse in a dishtowel. “She needs a comfortable place and Grayson’s not answering my calls. I can compensate you accordingly.”

“Why not use your room?”

“It will stress the birds out. Please, Stephanie.”

She ran her fingers through her hair. “Fine, but as soon as Dick gets back you’re moving.”

“Deal.”

Steph laid out the bathroom towels on the countertop and Damian set the squealing mouse in the pillow-soft arrangement. 

“How long do mice give birth for?” she asked.

“The book I read said upwards of a few hours,” he said. “We are currently at the five-minute mark.”

Steph wrung her hands anxiously, bouncing from foot to foot. “God, where’s Mama Grayson when you need him?”

Damian stroked the top of the mouse’s head, whispering words of comfort it doesn’t understand, but his hushed tone made the mouse nuzzle its head in the crook of his palm. Steph sent a barrage of texts to their older brother and spent the next several minutes checking her phone every few seconds. Being a big sister should come with a job description because this is _not_ what she signed up for.

“Can you check how far along she is?” Damian asked.

“What? No!”

“Please.”

Steph muttered, “You all owe me big time.”

One, two, three, four, five, six. Six mouse pups, each blind, hairless, and barely the length of her thumb. While Damian pampered the mother, Steph was tasked with wiping the slime-covered babies clean. And it was now that Dick chose to come home.

“Here you go.” She handed the last pup to Damian. “Now if you excuse me, I’m gonna go dunk my hands in bleach.”

When she saw Dick, the first thing he asked was, “How’s Dami doing?”

“Calmer, now that Francine’s done giving birth.”

Dick cursed and buried his hands in his head. “I can’t believe I missed it. I promised him I’d be there, but then something came up last minute with Babs and—”

“It’s okay,” she said, “he wasn’t alone.”

“Thanks.” He sighed.

She tossed the hand towel aside and crossed her arms. “Why do you let him?”

“Let him what?”

“This.” She gestured vaguely. “The birds, the mouse—mice—, the caterpillars. I get you mean well and want him to be happy, but sometimes it gets excessive. The other day I told him to get his birds out of my backpack and he stuck his tongue out at me.”

“Exactly! He stuck his tongue out at you!” Dick said. “Think about it: when does he ever act his age? Even when he’s not Robin, he’s trying to act all mature and prove himself, but he abandons all of that around animals.”

She blew a strand of hair out of her face. “I hate how you make a good point.”

He placed a hand on her shoulder. “How ’bout a compromise? I’ll talk to him about his behavior. Meanwhile, can you at least keep an open mind?”

Steph sighed and smiled softly. “I’ll try.”

They eventually worked something out. There was more than enough money on Bruce’s credit card to buy an animal sanctuary, so Damian can adopt to his heart’s content and Steph doesn’t have to worry about fur and feathers in her lunch box. Now all that’s left to do is release the butterflies on this sunny day.

As Damian set the mesh cage under the shade of the willow tree, Steph said to Dick, “Still think you’re a total pushover.”

He nudged her. “Admit, you kind of are too.”

Damian’s tiny laugh went almost undetected as among the rustling branches. But Steph caught it, and it was enough to bring out the smile she had been trying to hide.

“And you wouldn’t be wrong.”

**Author's Note:**

> I’m aware this isn’t my best work, but the week I wrote it I was super busy juggling a ton of stuff and I didn’t have the brainpower to figure out what to do with any of the prompts.


End file.
